


Some Nights

by ellewrites



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Depression, Multi, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 22:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20682989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellewrites/pseuds/ellewrites
Summary: “You have a crush on him,” Clint said and Bruce looked away, embarrassed, but Clint knew he was dead on the money, so he grabbed Bruce’s hand so he couldn’t escape. “It’s okay – I do too.”





	Some Nights

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the “pillow talk” square on my rare pair bingo card and was inspired by [LadyDarkPhoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixfire/pseuds/LadyDarkPhoenix). owo

Some nights it was all Clint could do to stop himself from crying. 

Those were bad nights. Bruce tried to help, he did. He would hold him close and kiss his head as Clint listened to his heart beating. Bruce understood, he did. He understood what it was to be alone, to be unloved. He didn’t try to placate him with meaningless platitudes or make him talk about it. He didn’t try to make it better. He just held him until he was calm enough to fall asleep.

Some nights it was all Bruce could do to get to bed at all. 

Those were bad nights, too. Bruce would curl up on the couch with a book and lose himself in it so he didn’t have to think about anything else. And the first few times Clint let him, didn’t think anything about it. But he just wouldn’t sleep until he couldn’t function and he broke down in exhausted tears on the subway coming home from work. 

So now Clint stood in the doorway, waiting. Bruce would tell him to go to bed but he wouldn’t move. And Bruce would get more and more insistent until his voice cracked and whatever was bothering him spilled out and Clint took him to bed and kissed away his tears, fucking him until he was too tired to argue any more, too tired to do anything but stare at the wall and eventually fall asleep. 

Some nights they talked about it. Hushed whispers shared across the valley between their pillows. My mom made ramen with frozen peas. I still remember the way SPAM tastes on white bread. Sometimes my jaw still aches from where he hit me. Sometimes the silence was worse than the screaming. I wish it was okay for an adult to hide in a closet. I wish it was okay for an adult to ask for a hug. 

They never said they wanted it to be different, but Clint knew they both wished that it had been – if not for themselves, at least for each other. If anything hurt worse than your own shitty past, it was looking into the eyes of the man you loved and knowing he had had it just as bad.

Some nights the valley between them felt insurmountable and Clint would stare at Bruce’s back, his broad shoulders and the way he breathed, and feel paralyzed. He couldn’t even touch him. Couldn’t even reach out and put his hand on the one person who cared enough to touch him back. He was scared or he was too far away or he was just a pathetic piece of shit with nothing to offer anyone. Those nights were bad too. 

There were a lot of bad nights but days? They weren’t as hard. Once they’d forced themselves out of bed, danced around their routine, kissed each other goodbye. Some days Clint would go over to Bruce’s office for lunch, regaling him with stories about the bullshit at work as Bruce laughed. Some days Clint would get invited out to the bar afterward work and he would go and grin and text Bruce silly stories as he drank. Some days Bruce would leave work early and pick him up and they’d go out to dinner somewhere new. Some days they’d make plans to go to a museum or a concert or a party and get a little dressed up and go out together like normal people did. 

But then the night would come eventually and depression would sneak in like a wraith around their shoulders, holding boney fingers tight around their throats and dragging them down again until it was hard to breathe and hard to see anything other than the deep darkness of the never ending abyss that had comprised most of their lives. 

“Something has to change,” Clint whispered as he stared at Bruce’s back, not even sure Bruce was able to hear him. Not even sure he wanted him to. 

“I love you too much to see you this sad,” Clint whispered as he kissed at Bruce’s tears. 

‘I wish you smiled like this all the time,’ Clint thought as Bruce made witty quips at their table mates and sipped his wine triumphantly, reaching for Clint’s hand under the table.

And then they met Tony Stark.

Tony was, objectively, a bit of a fucking mess. When they met him he was already shit faced at one of their favorite bars. It had been a string of bad nights and it was all Clint could do to drag Bruce half-dead down to the bar to try to wrangle a few half-hearted smiles out of him. Bruce didn’t want to be there and hell, Clint didn’t even want to be there, but there they were, sitting at the bar together, miserable as could be when Tony came up alongside Bruce. 

“What’s this guy drinking?” Tony said to the bartender, jerking a thumb at Bruce. “Because it needs to be a hell of a lot stronger.” 

Bruce couldn’t even be offended he was so caught off guard and the bartender laughed and set down two shot glasses. 

“Have one on me,” he said as the bartender poured a double shot of top shelf vodka for both of them. “You look like you need it. Oh! And your boyfriend too!” 

They ended up doing shots with him for a few hours and Tony had them both laughing harder than they had in months. He was funny and outgoing and loud and completely unable to be embarrassed. He had stories for days about crazy shit he did in college as well as last week and he seemed to know literally everyone. ‘Talk to my friend Steve at the museum, he can get you back to where they curate the new exhibits,’ he’d say. Or, ‘Oh my friend Bucky is opening a new restaurant in a few weeks that I think you guys would love – he already owns several in the city – I bet I can get you in opening night if you’re interested.’ 

Truthfully, they weren’t sure if half of what he said wasn’t bullshit but it didn’t matter. They were caught in his spell and it felt good. And when he left he took their numbers and they went home and fucked better than they had in months – maybe years. And when they fell into the pillows, sweaty and sated, all dumb afterglow and smiles and bullshit, Clint looked over at Bruce and laughed. 

“Who knew all it took was a little top shelf vodka?” 

But they both knew it wasn’t the vodka.

_ Come out with me tonight _, Tony would text with some place to meet, some interesting thing to do. He took them to a fancy club with a guest list the size of an index card where the bouncer knew him by name. He took them to a football game and sat them in his box seats with a server to cater to their every whim. He took them to his friend Bucky’s new restaurant and had them seated in the kitchen, served personally by the chef. He took them to a drag show, his face covered in glitter with black lipstick painted on his wide smile. He took them to a wine tasting and explained in a pseudo-pretentious voice about the tannins and the bouquet like an expert. He took them biking around the city and stopped in at all these little local haunts they never knew existed. 

Sometimes he had his fling of the week on his arm, and whether a woman or man it was always the same – they were hopelessly trying to impress him and he would grow increasingly bored of his date as the night wore on. Honestly, they both enjoyed it more when he didn’t bring a date, but that caused its own set of issues. And as they lay all fucked out in bed they would look at each other with a growing amount of guilt behind their sated smiles until finally, it had to be said. 

“You have a crush on him,” Clint said and Bruce looked away, embarrassed, but Clint knew he was dead on the money, so he grabbed Bruce’s hand so he couldn’t escape. “It’s okay – I do too.”

There were still bad nights. Nights where neither one of them knew what to say, nights where all they could do was hide in the pillows and cry. But they were fewer and further between since Tony had come into their lives. And neither one of them knew exactly what to do about that. 

“Is it fair to ask that of him?” Bruce asked softly into the dark, his voice half muffled by the pillow as Clint stroked his hair. 

“Is it fair not to?” Clint asked back, truly unsure, because if Tony wanted them as badly as they wanted him then wasn’t keeping their interest from him wrong?

It was hard to know. Tony had no shortage of potential suitors. Maybe one of them would stick, Clint thought, maybe one of them would be the one. But by next week when Tony would invite them out again they were gone and he was there with a smile on his face and a bottle of wine or a fishing rod or a couple of tickets to a show or something else equally unique and fun and they couldn’t say ‘no.’ They both liked him too much. 

And in the quiet moments in the dark when they were able to be honest – they could both admit they needed him too much.

_ What are you doing tonight? _ Tony said and Clint replied, _ Come on over tonight, we should talk. _

Tony didn’t question it but he showed up with a big bag of weed and a smile on his face. 

“I don’t do ‘talks,’” he said, “but if you guys wanna fuck me, this will make it less awkward the first time.”

Clint and Bruce looked at one another and Bruce shrugged. It wasn’t exactly what they wanted, no – but it was a start. So they ordered a pizza and got high as fuck then rolled around in bed for an hour, kissing and touching and sucking each other off and then kissing some more. And fuck – it felt good. Clint was worried he’d be jealous but strangely, he wasn’t. All he could focus on was the way Bruce’s smile looked like it was going to crack his face and the way his own hurt cheeks hurt as he mouthed down both their bodies. Tony was right, the pot helped. But when they looked into each other’s eyes, they all knew there was more to it than that. 

But like a perverse Cinderella, Tony was gone before the clock struck midnight, and they were left alone to sleep it off, curled up in each other’s arms. And the next time Tony showed up with something to do, he had a blonde on his arm, sucking up to him and sucking face, and Bruce went ballistic. 

“She was _ insipid_,” he growled as his fingers twisted the pillow case angrily. “Tony doesn’t want _ that _ – he wants _ us _.”

Bruce had always struggled to understand why there were problems that had easy solutions – but people never had easy solutions. If they did, Clint would have been able to solve Bruce all by himself – but he couldn’t. He needed Tony for that. But if Tony felt differently, if Tony wanted something else – then there was nothing he or anyone else could do about that.

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Clint whispered. 

In some ways, it was easier for Bruce. At least his mother had loved him, even if his father had beat him senseless. That duality was hard, of course, far more painful than Clint could ever imagine, but... But Clint had been abandoned as a child, forced through foster care until he was dumped out on his own. No one had ever wanted him. No one until Bruce. 

“Hey,” Bruce said softly as he gathered Clint up in his arms, warm and solid and always, always there. “I love you. I’ll always love you. And fuck anyone who doesn’t.”

Over the months though they had grown to understand that Tony liked distraction. It was what they both loved about him. He needed to be doing something, always, seeking out some new experience, some good time, some something something something all the time, all the time so he didn’t have to stop and think and focus on the things in his life that made him uncomfortable. A new person was never a threat, a new place was somewhere he was unknown. 

But Tony had fucked up when he got too close to Bruce and Clint. Clint could see it in his eyes after they’d had sex, could see his fear creeping in, could see him want to turn tail and run, could see it clear as day, like he was looking at his own reflection – _ one day you’ll get bored of me too _ , his eyes said, _ one day I’ll have nothing left to give. _

As the weeks grew long between the times they saw Tony, Bruce grew more and more despondent. Clint could have taken it personally, but he remembered what it was like before they met Tony Stark. It wasn’t personal. Tony just – Tony just changed something about them both, made them happy with his quirky grin and his sense of humor and his fathomless intelligence. It wasn’t like Clint didn’t feel the withdrawal too. 

He would lay in bed thinking about the way he could make Tony smile with an ill-timed raunchy joke or the way he moaned when he worried a hickey into his hip. He would let himself remember the way Tony would sit just a little too close as he wrapped his arm around his shoulders, making him feel safe, protected, captivating. He could see clear as day the beautiful look on Tony's face when Clint had something he could share that Tony had never heard before, the way it felt to have him hang on his every word as he told a story, the way he made him feel like he was the most interesting person in the room even though Clint knew for damn sure he wasn’t. 

And he would look over at Bruce wearing a mournful look on his face and he would stroke the hair back from his forehead and he would remember how Tony made Bruce smile too. How Tony treated the man he loved so gently, so sweetly – just how Bruce deserved. He would think about how they could talk for hours over philosophy or science or art and leave Clint feeling completely smitten and undeserving. He would imagine how Tony cradled Bruce's head as he kissed at his neck and Bruce closed his eyes and smiled so softly, like he was in heaven. He would let himself remember what it was like before, how he wished he could see Bruce smile all the time, and he knew that even if it was second nature to him to let things go – this time, he had to hold on. 

“He’s scared,” Clint whispered across the valley between them, hoping that Bruce heard. 

“I know,” Bruce whispered back, but he pulled the sheets up to his chin and turned over, curling up on himself, protecting where it hurt. 

The thing was, Bruce had been scared all his life. It wasn’t an excuse he accepted. 

_ Why don’t you come over tonight? We can order in _, Clint said, a last ditch effort to save what they were about to lose. Half of him didn’t even expect Tony to agree. The other half was lost in what he knew was wishful thinking. It had been almost three weeks since they heard from Tony. He’d never gone that long before. 

Some nights Clint’s sense of abandonment ran high and he sniffled into the pillow and tried not to let Bruce hear, make Bruce comfort him yet again. But the days were easier and he managed to get the text out and set his phone down, trying not to hope for much even though his heart betrayed him.

Tony showed up without the weed but a look of resignation on his face. Whatever he thought he was going to have to say was lost however as Clint took his hand and lead him to the couch and Bruce rested his head on his shoulder as he flipped through Netflix, asking what he wanted to watch. 

He looked like a deer in headlights but he didn’t argue, didn’t say anything at all as he let them mold their night around him. Bruce answered the door for Indian and they got Tony a plate. Clint kicked up his legs and rested them on Tony’s crossed ones as they sat on the floor at the coffee table to eat. Bruce swiped the last piece of naan off his plate and grinned triumphantly that he had left it unprotected. And when the movie was over Clint got up to pick up their plates and before Tony had a chance to announce that he was going to leave Bruce kissed him, real soft and slow. 

“Come to bed,” Bruce murmured and Tony looked up at Clint from the floor, his eyes a terrified mix of desire and reservation, what he wanted and what he thought he could have at war. 

“It’s okay,” Clint told him, offering him his hand. 

They lead him back to the bedroom and undressed him slowly with questing hands, laying him back down in bed and kissing his mouth, his shoulders, his chest, his hips. Tony was trembling and he looked like he might cry but Clint was used to bad nights. And he knew Bruce was too.

“Do you like this?” Bruce whispered as he scraped his teeth across his nipple, pulling Tony up onto his side where he could get at him better. 

“Yeah,” Tony sighed as he twisted his fingers in Bruce’s hair, holding his face close against his chest. 

“What about this?” Clint murmured into his shoulder as he teased him with one dry finger against his ass. 

“_Oh _ yeah,” Tony moaned as he reached a fumbling hand back for Clint’s hips to pull them closer together so he could be sandwiched in between them. 

But Clint took a moment to roll over and get the lube and a condom as Bruce tucked his body up against Tony’s, kissing him like if he did it just the right way, Tony would stay. And Clint sat up for a moment, leaned over and covered Tony’s hand with his own where it was still buried in Bruce’s hair, and he kissed Bruce’s temple gently and nosed at his ear. 

“Love you,” he breathed, and Bruce smiled against Tony’s lips and then leaned up for a moment to give Clint a sweet kiss of affirmation. 

Clint slipped back down behind Tony, prepping him with experienced fingers and listening to him moan. And when he finally slid in he wrapped his arms around Tony’s chest, holding him close, wanting him to feel as good as he made them feel, as Bruce moved down to suck his dick. Tony was shaking and mumbling curses as he pawed at Bruce’s hair and Clint kissed the back of his neck. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered in Tony’s ear as he came gasping in Bruce’s mouth, clutching at Clint’s arms around his chest as Clint’s hips rocked slowly into him. “It’s okay.” 

Watching Bruce kiss at Tony’s tears as he held him made Clint ache. Maybe they were depressed and dysfunctional but they were good at this. They were good at nights like this. 

Clint came shuddering into Tony, burying his face in his sweaty shoulders as Tony started to cry harder but neither one of them cared. Bruce slid up to wrap his arms around Tony’s head and cradle it against his chest as Clint snuggled in so close Tony had to feel his heart thumping against his back. 

“Do you like this?” Bruce asked softly as he finally began to calm down, his arms loosening around Bruce’s waist. 

“Yeah,” he sniffled as Clint released him and slipped out to clean himself off a minute. 

When he came back Tony was laying in the middle of the bed and Bruce was running his fingers through his short hair in that soothing way of his, looking so soft and young and gentle. Clint's heart thudded against his ribs as he watched. That’s what Bruce looked like when he held him some nights? He didn’t know what to do with that information. But when Tony looked at him with sad and longing eyes, he knew how to deal with that. 

Clint climbed into bed and flopped down next to him, placing a hand on his stomach as he stared into his eyes. 

“Stay,” he said calmly, not a plea, not a command, just a simple statement of what he wanted – not just for himself or Tony or Bruce, but for all of them.

“I can’t,” Tony said and his voice broke and Clint swallowed down how much it hurt to hear him say that. 

“Why?” Bruce asked and Clint could hear the little note of heart-break at the end of the singular syllable clear as day. Clint was used to being left behind but Bruce? Bruce only knew what it was like to fight through the pain.

“I’ll fuck it up,” Tony said as he turned over on his stomach and tried to bury his face in the pillow like he could block out the world. “I’m a fuck up. I fuck everything up.”

“Hey,” Clint said as he rubbed his back. “We’re pretty good at fucking our own shit up, thank you very much.” 

Bruce chuckled as he rested his hand on Tony’s head, running his thumb through the short hair on the back of it. “Clint’s right about that.”

“You don’t understand,” Tony argued but Clint took his face in his hands and kissed him gently. 

“We understand,” he said as Tony’s eyes blinked slowly, starstruck. “Stay.” 

And Tony did. 

But some nights it was all Tony could do not to run. 

Those were bad nights. Nights when Tony got low he got flighty, would hide out in his apartment not responding to texts or knocks on the door or yelling or anything, convinced that it was better for them if he wasn’t around. And they would lay in bed together, Clint pillowing his head on Bruce’s stomach as he texted every night, _ we miss you so much _ and _ please come home when you’re ready_.

Then he would come home with flowers and unnecessary apologies and they would welcome him with relief and open arms and it would be okay again.

Some nights they talked about it. Tony didn’t know what it was like to be poor but he knew what it was like to be unloved. I learned to tell what kind of night it was by how much liquor was left in the bottle. The first time I got high was on my mom’s oxy ‘cause I just wanted to be as fucking gone as she was. I still remember the smell of cigars and the way he looked at me like he was undressing me with his eyes. It was all my fault, always my fault. 

And some nights, try as they might, no one could say anything at all. Bruce would fall asleep on the couch or Tony would go off to masturbate in the shower or when one of them eventually came to bed he just lay down and passed out wordlessly. Clint hated those nights when he had two boyfriends but still felt alone in his own bed. Those were bad nights. 

But the bad nights grew fewer and further between. Most nights were good nights now. Nights where he would come home and Bruce and Tony would be in the middle of an epic Mario Kart battle and Tony would beg Clint to help by doing whatever he could to distract Bruce. Nights where Bruce would try to teach them how to cook and whichever unwilling participant was stuck in the kitchen would be slowly plied with more and more wine by the other until Bruce declared it a lost cause. Nights where Clint would make them watch stand up comedy specials until Tony was rolling around on the couch bored and trying to make out with both of them. 

Nights when they would fall into bed together, kissing and touching and fucking until everything felt better and nothing hurt anymore. 

Most nights were good nights now.


End file.
